


About Bran

by ann_and_white_elephant



Series: The Mother of Monarchs [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catelyn Lives, Dragons, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, King Bran Stark, Next Generation, Supernatural Elements, Weddings, Weirwood(s), White Harbor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 04:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20650925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann_and_white_elephant/pseuds/ann_and_white_elephant
Summary: Decades pass, the world changes, yet old sins would not let Catelyn be. (Works as a stand-alone story).Five children, kings and queens. And one who was no son of hers. Five + one AUs series.





	1. About Bran

The sky was clear blue crowned with a sole cloud. Catelyn sighed and turned her gaze back down. She tried to think about present tasks instead of getting lost in her memories as happened to her so often these days. One of the carpets had taken to moth and it was almost the time to order lamb from the butcher down at Fishfoot Yard, but she would do neither today. If only there was something which would need to fix. But between her and her maid there was little to do. Not in the garden and not in the house. Her garden was not big – a square not eighteen feet wide and just as long and the house was not much bigger. Once it stood alone behind the border of the city, but the city grew larger every year. Now the small garden was surrounded from three sides by blind walls of other buildings as white as Catelyn’s hair. In such a small space, there were only narrow flowerbeds framing the walls, a path walk around them, in the middle a bench she was sitting on and a single tree. It was a modest garden, but so was Cat’s own life. There was only one quirk about the place. The tree was not an apple-tree, a prune or a peer, but a weirwood. Young, slim and faceless. It had already been there when she moved in. It might have been the true reason why she had chosen this place. For all Cat had not held any love for Winterfell’s godswood and its heart three, this slim white trunk brought her comfort. She felt closer to the children and husband she had lost.

“Are you dining with your ghosts again, Aunt Cat?” asked Brandon Flint in a cheerful voice as soon as he entered the garden. He was no nephew or grandnephew of hers, but the grandson of Lady Wynafryd, yet he had always called her aunt. Theirs was an unusual acquaintance. The boy had been sent to The White Harbor as a babe when his parents perished of fever. He was not even six when he approached her at one of the feasts. With innocence and boldness only fools and children possess, he asked her for the tale of the Red Wedding. He kept returning for her stories ever since. Though less often once he reached the age when girls and beer became much more interesting than some old woman’s stories, no matter how gruesome they might be.

“I see no food here, my dear boy,” Catelyn said with a smile. He was one of the few living souls who could still make her smile in earnest. In a way, he reminded her of both of his namesakes she had loved and lost. He was full of life, bold and honest in his emotions be it anger, love or joy, just as her first betrothed had been. Yet, there was still a place for dreams in him despite age of eight and ten and knighthood. In that he was like her second son. 

“All the better, I’ve brought some. Grandmother entrusted me to bring you peaches and some of the wine she was sent from Arbor. And I bought blood-oranges and olives at the marked.”

“Is that your cousin Wyman I see drinking that Arbor Gold in my house?” It was not truly a question, even with her weakening eyes she could see the bastard clearly through an open window. Oft as not when Brandon came, so did Wyman Snow. The bastard liked her company no more than she liked his. When he could, he spent those visits at least one room away. Catelyn tried not to show her distaste too much. She never learned to like the name _Snow. _Not even now, more than twenty years after Ned bastard’s death when Jon Snow she had once known as a pale sullen boy had become a legend on pair with Brandon the Builder or Aegon the Dragon. And in Wyman’s case it was more than just his bastardy. It was even more than his lack of manners. Just as Brandon, the other youth brought back memories of men she once knew. He had good looks and enough victories in White Harbor’s tourneys that she once heard some old knight from the Westerlands compare him to Jaime Lannister. He was just as sure of his own cleverness as Petyr and even meddled in harbor’s trade. But most of all, whenever he smiled cockily at the jape only he seemed to know, Catelyn remembered Theon Greyjoy. 

“I swear, I’ll kill him. He knew the wine was for you.” Brandon turned a glare towards the house. Maybe he would have even stormed there and gave his companion an ear, but Catelyn took his hand and stopped him.

It would be pointless to let them quarrel. No matter what they said to each other, on the morrow the two would be best friends again and it would just spoil the visit. If she could have talked Brandon out of this friendship, she would have done so years ago. “Let him be. I have no taste for the wine in any case. Rather tell me why you are here.”

“Must there be a reason?” Brandon frowned and his brown eyes widened. “It’s almost two moon turns since I’ve you last.”

Catelyn laughed. “Yes, there had to be a reason, when young are visiting old. Even if it’s only to hear the stories. But I think that I had no more of them and you are too old for that in any case.”

The Flint boy looked a little ashamed at that. “Grandmother bid me to bring you an invitation.”

“An invitation?” Catelyn willed her mind to remember. Forgetting was something that could not be avoided from time to time at her age. Sometimes she remembered more clearly what happened twenty years ago than what someone told her fortnight past.

“Oh, drown me. I have forgotten how slowly the news always reach you, Aunt Cat. There is to be a royal wedding. My grandmother and King Trystane have finally agreed upon the terms. In two moon turns my uncle Jon will marry the king’s third daughter Melessa. There is a place for you at dais.”

_A royal wedding_. Catelyn stopped an unwelcome trail of thought and memories with all the force she could muster. She reached for the piece of parchment Brandon was offering and read the elegantly wrought message. Her bones felt heavier with each next word. So many people these days did not know who she was. Sometimes she wished there was no one left to remember. The Manderlys had been kind to her for years. It was their kindness which fed her, clothed her and gave her a roof above her head. The Stark name still held high in the White Harbor and she was as close to a Stark as anyone could get these days. But if she was to be seated at the dais at the royal wedding, it was not because her husband had been a High Lord, but because two of her sons had been kings. _For all the good it did them. _Robb won every battle yet lost his home and his life. And her sweet Bran… only old gods knew what happened to Bran. Even after all those years his brief return still felt more like a dream or a nightmare rather than anything that might have truly happened.

***

_32 years earlier_

_She must have cursed Greatjon hundred times at their journey from the Twins. It was too much to bear. He had rescued her, but left Robb die. At her bitter words the Umber gave her just as bitter answer – the king had been dead already, by the time he could do anything. She had been the only one left. They were riding northeast instead of straight north. The Umber sold their horses as soon as they reached the first village by the Bite and had them sail to Oldcastle on a fishing boat. Even then Cat knew, that there was no place for her any longer. Winterfell was in ruins, Riverrun soon to be taken by Lannisters and Freys and she could never belong to Lord Locke’s castle. She found it as dusty and forgotten as its old master, but maybe it was just grief clouding her judgement. _

_King Joffrey and Lord Tywin were already dead, Lord Stannis had sailed to the Wall and the sky was cloudy the day her hope returned to her. _

_Ondrew Locke himself found her in her chamber. It was one of the few places she was allowed to go in the castle. Many days it seemed as if she was a prisoner and not a guest. They had told her that it was better few knew where she was. But like as not, they were just as slow to forgive that she had let Jaime Lannister free as the garrison of her father’s castle had been. _

_“Come with me, my lady.” Lord Locke told her, and she went. She had no will to question or restrain decisions of others. _

_Halfway through the corridor Lord Ondrew stopped in front of a door and nodded towards the chamber. Cat entered, though the meaning of his actions was lost to her. She could not tell what she had expected to find inside, but the room was not unoccupied. As the first she noticed a short slim girl who sat on the chair by the heart. The maiden was quickly forgotten for the other person present. In the bed, alive, safe and warm lied her second son whom she had thought dead for months._

_“Bran.” She breathed. The old solemn look in his eyes was not one she recognized, but in that moment, she could not care less. Cat ran to him and took his hands in hers half laughing, half sobbing. It was only hours later that she learned the price for his return. Bran’s direwolf was dead, so was Lord Reed’s heir Jojen. And though they had hope he lived, no one knew where Rickon could be. _

***

Fishfoot Yard had been cleaned and transformed for the day. Repelled of its usual loud life, it filled with another purpose and another occupants. Despite the gathered crowds it seemed almost quiet in expectation. In the center of the unusual spectacle stood the Manderlys. Wynafryd Manderly, the grey-haired ruling lady of the city had her son and heir, Jon, to her right. Ser Jon was a sharp-featured man little past thirty. Thin and tall, he resembled his grandfather Cat once had known but a little. To the lady’s other side fidgeted with a youthful impatience Wynafryd’s other son, Wendel. A boy of four and ten with a common face, a child his mother had very late in life. Brandon Flint, the only offspring of Wynafryd’s deceased daughter and Wyman Snow stood little apart. There had been many bastard children born in the last chaotic decades, but the world was now returning to its order. Catelyn knew, that many would see Wyman’s presence as unwelcome. Yet, as once Cat’s own husband, Lady Wynafryd reminded iron-willed in the matter. The baseborn son of the lady’s infamously willful sister was treated as the rest of her family.

Close to the Manderlys were guards, lesser lordlings of White Harbor and those few nobles from King’s Landing who were willing to venture so far north. Most notable among them was the only present member of the small council, Lord Steffon. The man had been the Master of the Ships for no less than twenty years. As for the rest, Catelyn knew none of their names and faces and barely any of their sigils. In the Second Long Night many of the old proud names perished forever and just as many lost their seats or prestige. Especially in the North. Though White Harbor itself thrived and grew bigger every day, not four days ride north from it lied nothing but abandoned ruins and men-less lands. _The burned corpse of Winterfell holds its solemn court above them all. The crypts are still there, but I shall never see the place again. _Catelyn did not mind. Neither Ned’s nor her children’s bones ever returned to the crypts where they were supposed to rest.

“They are coming, they are here!” A woman shouted. Heads started to turn to all directions until most found two silhouettes at the sky. In no time, two dragons were landing at the emptied part of the square. Rhaegal was green as pine and bigger than anything Catelyn could imagine possible. Of all the living dragons only Drogon was bigger. He and Rhaegal were the two that reminded still alive of Queen Daenerys’ original three. The other dragon, which came to White Harbor was one of their own hatchlings. He was not even half as big as Rhaegal and his scales had the color of dark honey. With more dragons being born every year, it was hard to remember all their names. But the recent talk around the town had been kind enough to remind her. _Evening,_ the creature was called simply for the time it had been born.

The dragons stilled on the cobbled surface of the square and the riders came down from saddles. Trystane Martell's brood proved to possess enough Targaryen blood to bond with dragons and Martells took the name of the royal dynasty for their own, but the gods granted them nothing of the fabled Valyrian beauty. Crown Prince Morgan and Prince Samwell looked both rather common with mid high and dark brown hair. The most obvious difference between them were Prince Morgan’s short-trimmed beard and his brother’s white Kingsguard attire. Both were just barely younger than Jon Manderly.

Prince Samwell took few steps forth to have a better look of the surroundings, while the crown prince helped their sister from his dragon. Melessa _Targaryen_ took her brother’s hand and hopped down from Rhaegal’s saddle in a manner somehow lacking in grace. Though not truly fat, she was very short and stocky. Yet her bosom was generous and her dark jeweled braid thick and so long that it came to half of her things. When she came closer, Catelyn noticed that her eyes were pretty too – big and brown, framed by long dark lashes. The looks of the bride, however, was never the main concern in this marriage.

The princess turned and Catelyn saw that the rumor had been true. On Melessa’s left shoulder perched the third dragon, a young hatchling not even as big as a cat. Before today, the only dragon Catelyn had glimpsed had been Viserion and this beast was rather similar in appearance. Only instead of gold its cream-colored scales mixed with black and its horns, talons and eyes were coal black too. As far as the tidings went, the dragon was yet unnamed. _Was its mistress gladder for the dragon or the marriage? _Catelyn mussed.

At one and twenty, even if the princess was almost a decade younger than her future husband, she was on the verge of becoming an old maid. Both of her younger sisters had already wed to Lannisport and Gulltown. It was clear to Cat, as to anyone with half the wits that princess Melessa herself could have never hoped for a good match while she was the one without a dragon. Aside of the King Trystane’s firstborn all the other king’s living children had bonded with their dragons years ago. Most notably the king’s second daughter Florys, a harsh woman who rode Drogon himself, openly declared her wish to never wed and even persuaded her father to allow her to join the Kingsguard. Now it seemed, that there would be only one adult _Targaryen_ without a dragon. Princess Mellario, King Trystane’s eldest child and the heir of Dorne was a gentle woman who had been married even before her father became the king and never shown any wish to ride one of the fearsome beasts. Judging by Princess Melessa’s open happy smiles and the way her hand would touch the young dragon every so often, she had not been dragonless because she shared her elder sister’s delicate nature.

Catelyn wondered if she would have a chance to speak with the future Lady of the White Harbor at the wedding feast. Both of them were to be seated at the dais, but Cat’s place would not be even near its middle. _Maybe I should ask Brandon about her_, she thought, but then the necessary greetings were done, and the procession was moving. Catelyn had no choice but to become part of the marching mass.

***

_They called Bran king, but never too loudly. He was a king of one castle, where he was but a guest. His army stood not even thousand men strong and his court counted three lords. And even those three done nothing but quarrel. _

_Today they were arguing again in Lord Ondrew’s solar. _

_“Manderly won’t join us as long as Lannisters hold his son hostage,” Lord Ondrew Locke spoke ever bluntly. _

_Catelyn turned away tired. It was not the first time she heard the words, she knew every argument that was about to follow. Truth was, they did not have the strength to keep what little they still ruled. Her grand-uncle held Riverrun but a Lannisters host has it besieged. No matter the Blackfish’s skill or stubbornness, the castle was not likely to hold long. Aside of the eternal quarrel between Blackwoods and Brackens, the rest of her father’s lands had bend their knees to the lion. In the North, the treacherous Lord Bolton was gaining her son’s bannermen one by one. Even Lord Ondrew send Lord Roose a raven declaring his deference, though he swore to Cat that it was no more than a lie to keep them safe. And that was not even a half of it. These lords had been quick enough to crown Bran, albeit secretly, but it was not long before Catelyn heard first doubts. Bran was just a boy and broken one to that. He could never father any heirs of his own. She feared that the lords did not abandon Bran’s cause only for hope of finding Rickon and tidings of Robb’s will. _

_That cursed will kept her awake many a night. Jon Snow became the new Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and Cat prayed that the bastard would remain forever unaware of Robb’s wish. Otherwise, there was little hope for her own sons._

_This morning they had seated him in Lord Locke’s own seat, yet it seemed he could have been just as well siting in the kitchens with the cooks, so little mind the lords paid him. Bran himself was turned halfway from them looking out of the window. Cat knew he was listening by the look at his face, but he did not speak a word. There was more flash on him, then when she had left him in Winterfell, but he was still uncommonly pale and thin. The hardest of it all was to reconcile this sullen stranger with a lively sweet boy who once brightened the whole castle by his mere presence. Yet, he was still her son and Catelyn could do naught else but to love him._

_“My lords,” Bran spoke not turning from the window, “I just saw a messenger arriving. I would like to hear his tidings from trustworthy mouth.”_

_They hurried out as one. All but Cat who came to Bran and took his hand. “Was there truly such a man?”_

_“There was a man on a horse. It might be he carried a message. How could I tell more just looking from here?” The boy declared stubbornly. “Yet they all fled as one. They couldn’t stand more of this today, and neither could I.”_

_He was not wrong in that. “Maybe you should return to your lessons with the maester for today.” Catelyn offered._

_“Is there nothing else I can do, only listen to maesters and lords?”_

_“You are the king,” Cat told him. But he was also just a boy and so much had been already taken from him. She kissed his brow. “What would you wish to do?” _

_His eyes brightened and she feared that her own would fill with tears at the hope in his face. “Has Meera Reed returned to the castle yet?” Bran asked eagerly. _The girl is the only thing he truly cares about_. The thought would not let Cat’s mind. _

***

The wedding took place the same day in the Sept of Snow. It might have been a modest one among the royal weddings, but it was surely the grandest affair since the White Harbor had been resettled. The princes and the bridegroom attended clad as they were upon arrival, but the bride had changed from her riding attire. Her rich gown matched the colors of her dragon and her long hair flew freely in voluptuous curls.

It was the crown prince Morgan who gave his sister away. Catelyn knew that would be seen by many as another slight. The White Harbor was the last important city to be granted a royal marriage and it was one which came with the smallest dragon. Even worse, the king himself had attended all the other weddings of his children. The word was that Trystane Targaryen caught a chill. The weather in White Harbor was mild at the end of spring, but half of the kingdom still believed that they would freeze alive if they braved to wander anywhere north the Neck. The king would not risk traveling here unwell. _Still, _Catelyn thought,_ this won’t be soon forgotten_. She could only hope that this marriage would stop the rift growing between King’s Landing and the North, for all their sakes.

The ceremony had been rather long for Cat’s old bones. Finally, the septon was done and Ser Jon fastened a cloak in Manderly colors around his new wife’s shoulders. Once done, he had to bend noticeably to kiss the woman. Catelyn spotted few amused grins. _He is more than a head taller than her and they hadn’t even met before today, _she thought, _it’s no wonder they look awkward together. _

The husband and the wife parted, and Catelyn took notice of four people standing near. Wyman Snow turned to whisper something to one of princess’ ladies, but the slight girl who held the basket with the princess’ dragon pretended not to hear. Only by the blushing faces of Brandon Flint and young Wendel standing close, Catelyn could guess that the words were less than proper. _I should have a talk with Lady Wynafryd, if we came upon one another. _Wynafryd would be little cross with Cat for that, but like as not the lady would at least give her nephew an ear about offering noble houses.

“Aunt Cat, can I accompany you to the castle?” Brandon stopped her at the stairs of the sept as soon as she was out and offered her his arm.

_When were you, when I had to climb those steps up? _Cat almost shook her head, but in truth, it lifted her spirits, to talk to him. “Shouldn’t you be courting those sweet southern ladies?” she chided him good-naturedly. “I am sure Lady Manderly wouldn’t mind if you strengthened this new allegiance with your own marriage to a Tyrell maiden or even a Tarly.”

He wrinkled his face in a childish pout. “None of Lord Willas’ unmarried daughters came and the only kin the princess brought with her are her brothers. I don’t want a southern bride anyway. It’s not like they are lighting candles at Maiden’s altar to be married into North.”

“They might not, but I would not be so sure about their fathers once your aunt grants you a keep of your own.”

Something flashed in Brandon’s brown eyes, but he hesitated. For a moment Catelyn thought he would not tell her, however, Brandon was never one for secrets. “Grandmother lets me know that she would like to make me the new lord of Oldcastle, once it’s rebuild,” he told her in defeated voice.

Cat could not help herself, she shivered violently hearing the place would be used again. The Flint boy noticed. “What is it, had something happened there?” he inquired not unkindly. 

_Oldcastle is where my Bran was crowned and where I saw him for the last time_. Even then only few northern lords knew, and none of them lived to see the next spring_. I might be the last one to remember that Bran had been king at all. _When Cat had met Lady Wynafryd after the Second Long Night and the woman had offered her to go to White Harbor, they had talked about the Red Wedding, and the times before. However, Catelyn never shared much of those strange months in Oldcastle when Bran returned to her so briefly. If she started to talk about it now, some might even think she was losing her wits, with no one else left to confirm the tale. She gathered her composure. “It’s nothing, just one of an old woman’s moods. But why do you sound so defeated at the prospect of becoming a lord of your own?”

“I know I should be pleased.” Brandon looked at her unhappily. “But when Lady Manderly told me, it was as if I could suddenly see the rest of my life in front of me so clearly, that I could have lived it already.”

“And it was not what you wanted.” Cat could guess._ Ah, Brandon, you sweet summer child, what do you know of life? _“Is there any other path you see for yourself?” When younger, the boy sometimes took strange notions. At ten, for almost half a year, he would tell anyone that he would found the new Night’s Watch with him the Lord Commander. But those were just childish notions. _Surely, he had long outgrown them by now_. Yet, at her question, Brandon Flint just looked at her helplessly.

“That is the worst, I don’t know.” He despaired. “I just feel it needs to be something _different_.”

An unsettling suspicion took hold of her, Cat stopped walking and turned to look at him closely. “This isn’t about that beer seller’s girl you wanted to wed and flee with her to Essos?”

That at least made him laugh. “Mina? Aunt Cat, don’t be silly, that was ages ago. I haven’t seen her since her father found out. And that happened, what, four years past?” He shook his head blushing furiously at his younger self’s folly. He seemed to see it only as an embarrassing tale now, but the girl and Brandon had been just old enough to do _more_ than planning. The girl’s father owned three Inn’s in the harbor and her mother came from some distant Woolfield branch, but when the parents found out they promptly married her to some household knight from Sisterton. If not for Brandon, the girl could have made a better match. At the time, Catelyn had been angry and deeply disappointed with him. Half for acting so recklessly, half for reminding her of Robb’s gravest mistake. At least unlike Cat’s firstborn, Brandon had not suffered more than sniggers and she had forgiven him in the end.

The laugh seemed to shake Brandon from his mood. Catelyn was not surprised, he was never one to brood long. With lifted spirits he accompanied her all the way to the castle and even helped her to her seat.

***

_There was grace in the way Lord Reed‘s daughter moved with her spear and net. Catelyn had paid the girl much more attention once she noticed Bran’s interest. Meera Reed went around seemingly unbothered by sneers and leers men gave her both in and out of the yard. In that she appeared much different from Lady Brienne, another warrior maid Catelyn once knew. Meera had been more fortunate in her looks. Though short, slight and lacking generous curves of Cersei Lannister or Cat herself, she was by no means mannish. Her figure was lean, her face pleasant, but she was also of crannogmen, a folk considered strange even in the North. And in time a woman’s eye noticed a strain the words and looks were giving the Reed girl under the brave face._

_One evening barely a moon turn after Bran’s arrival to the Oldcastle, Catelyn approached the girl. _

_“Lady Meera, we didn’t spend much time together. I am sorry for that. It must be hard to be far from home and alone with no one here to help you. If you needed anything, you can come to me without hesitation.” The proposition was not truly sincere for it sprout from Bran’s interest in the girl, but Cat put the guilt aside. She meant the girl no harm. She assured herself, that would it be in her power, she would truly help. _

_Meera’s Green eyes showed surprise, but not distrust. “Thank you, Lady Catelyn. I understand, you had much on your mind.”_

_“So did you.” Robb’s death felt still all too fresh to Catelyn, but Meera’s own brother passed away even more recently. Catelyn had of course offered half-hearted condolences, but her wounded heart had not been able to give more at the time and now was too late for that._

_They did not talk much more that day, but the girl approached Catelyn three days hence._

***

Dishes at the feast were too rich and Catelyn ate but a little. To her right sat Lord Woolfield, to her left the table ended. Asher Woolfield had little to tell her. He spent the meal turned to the man to his right who had elephants and mountains on his bright blue surcoat and introduced himself as Lord Hardway.

When the dancing started, the tables emptied by large, their noble occupants left their seats to dance or mingle among one another. It did not take so long and the only other person who reminded seated at dais was a young lady at the princess’ side. It was the girl who had been holding princess’ dragon at the wedding ceremony. Catelyn could see her more clearly now. The lady seemed barely any taller than her mistress, though where Princes Melessa was endowed with generous curves this girl was slim, delicate and flat-chested. She wore a white gown of simple cut and had her brown hair braided at temples. The older she grew, the worse Catelyn got at guessing ages of young, but the maid seemed to her no older than seven and ten. Just as Catelyn watched her, the girl refused a knight who asked her for a dance and took out a small book from her sleeve. It was then that Catelyn stood up and went to her.

“My lady, would you mind a company?” Catelyn asked politely.

The girl looked up from her book. She had green eyes and there was an embroidery at her dress, showing entwisted white branches of a leafless tree. “It would be impolite to tell you yes, wouldn’t it?” The lady answered not too warmly with a question of her own. It was a colder greeting that Catelyn had expected, but it was not a refusal, so she seated herself down.

“I hope you didn’t take offense at Wyman Snow’s words at the wedding.”

“Was he the young man standing next to me? I didn’t hear him.” The lady answered calmly. Thee girl was lying, Catelyn was sure of it, but there was no sense in praying for more answers. If Cat had been afraid that Wyman might cause scandal with a highborn woman, it seemed to have no foundation in this case. This girl appeared too shrewd and heartless for such an affair. Still, it would be rude to just leave now.

“That is somewhat of a relief,” Catelyn spoke, “I am Lady Catelyn. I wasn’t in the castle past days, I missed my lady’s name.”

“You don’t know my name, yet I know yours, Lady_ Stark_.” The girl smiled bitingly. “I hoped, I would not have to talk to you. We have a common acquaintance who doesn’t remember you fondly. Be it as it may, I am Alynor Blackwood, the Lady of Raventree Hall.”

Catelyn had heard that some Blackwoods had survived the Night and returned to their seat, but which son or grandson of Lord Tytos had fathered this girl, she could not tell. Even less she could guess the identity of the person who disliked her so. Maybe Cat would have asked straight, but at that moment the princess stopped by the table with Ser Jon in tow. Both of their faces were flush from dancing and wine.

“Nora, don’t you dare to spend the whole feast reading again. How are you supposed to find a husband with such an attitude?” The princess chided her lady when she saw the book.

“Not the whole feast, I mean to leave early,” Alynor Blackwood answered unfazed.

Princess Melessa let go of Ser Jon and put her hands on her hips. “None of that. How can I be properly wed when my dearest friend won’t dance on my own wedding? You should dance at least once – for me.”

“Once, because it’s your wedding, but don’t you dare to get wed again.” Lady Blackwood sighed in a mock defeat. “Was the headsman already picked for my punishment too, or would it be my choice?”

The princess only laughed at that. “I would let you choose, but I know you too well. You would spend the whole night going round the hall and finding fault in every man, until the feast is at the end. No, none of that.” Princess Melessa turned on her heel and walked away with a step surprisingly quick considering her short stature and heavy dress. In no time she was back with two men she managed to summon. They turned out to be no one else than Brandon Flint and his cousin Wyman Snow. “See, I brought you not one but two, have a pick.”

_Does the princess know that one of them is a bastard?_ Catelyn wondered.

In the end, it did not matter, Alynor Blackwood gave both men a brief uninterested look and choose Brandon. Pleased with her accomplishment, Princess Melessa led her new husband to another dance and Catelyn found herself alone with Ser Wyman. To her surprise and irritation, he seated himself next to her and started to browse through the book Lady Alynor had left at the table.

“I didn’t hear the lady giving you the permission to borrow that book. It’s rather rude of you.” Catelyn felt compelled to say. 

“As rude as being probed and rejected like some old cattle without a word of apology?” He threw back not looking from the pages. Instead of his usual grin, his comely face wore a hard, unreadable expression. He did not say more and neither did she. Catelyn turned towards the dancers and found Brandon and the Blackwood girl in the swirling crowd. They looked handsome together. Despite her lack of interest in dancing, the lady moved with an easy grace, never missing a step. And Brandon, of course, was all smiles and effortless charm. _Maybe she could be that something unexpected he thirsts from life. _The girl appeared too cold for someone so young, but she was no Cersei Lannister, of that Catelyn was sure and Brandon was an easy man to love. That the girl came with a keep of her own would not hurt at all. _Wendel can have Oldcastle, the place_ _is too somber for someone like Brandon. _

The happy, foolish plans Cat had made for the young did not last much longer than one dance. As the song ended, Ser Jon called for a word. “You were meant to hear this only tomorrow, but my wife decided to give you all, but not me, an early gift. I expect_ my gift_ later in our bedchamber.” The whole hall laughed, loudest of all the bride. Catelyn had never heard the reserved heir of Lady Wynafryd talk so bawdy, but then again, she had never seen him quite so drunk either. He even struggled with his following words. “You all know there will be a tourney, and there will be a joust, and there will be a melee, and there will be a winner of the melee and he will become the new member of the Kingsguard.” 

Cups were raised at that and the hall roared with approval, but Catelyn felt only dread. She did not even need to look at Brandon Flint to know what he planned to do. Instead, she turned towards the princes. The whole evening the king’s sons had danced little and drunk less, mindful of their duty. Cat hoped against all odds that they will let it be known, that this was no more than a drunkard nonsense. Instead, what she saw were two confirming nods.

She stood up abruptly and cursed herself when pain erupted in her back. Nonetheless, she hurried to Brandon and reached him just as the Blackwood girl was leaving. Brandon gave the lady one last smile and turned to Catelyn. “Aunt Cat, I know what you want to say, but _this_ is exactly what I have been waiting for.”

“I would rather hope that that was the girl you had been dancing with.” 

“Lady Alynor?” He asked with honest confusion. “What of her?”

“She is the Lady of Raventree Hall and still unpromised.” The girl might not have been the new Queen Daenerys in her looks, but she was pretty enough. Brandon was missing what such marriage could bring him. It was time he started to think like a man rather than a boy. 

Brandon only laughed at that. “That is why you already planned our wedding in your head? It was just one dance she gave me for the princess’ sake. One keep, or another, what is the difference? No, I will fight in the melee and I will win.”

An answer formed on her tongue, but Cat bit it down. By all laws Brandon had been a man grown for two years and she was not even his true kin, no matter how much she cared for him. Besides, despite all of Brandon’s efforts, the only thing which was likely to come of this venture, was his wounded pride. The Flint boy was not a bad swordsman, but even within the White Harbor there were many better. Men without hope to ever gain their own keep, men without chance for good marriages, men who had much more to gain by winning. Likely the most skilled among them was Wyman Snow. Brandon’s cousin was most known for his proves in jousting, but Catelyn had heard that he was even more gifted with a sword. She did not tell Brandon any of that, however. Instead she put a hand on his cheek and wished him best.

***

_Catelyn had already started preparing for a bed when she heard a soft knock on the oaken door. _

_“Enter.”_

_Meera Reed came inside. She was clad as usually in breeches and bronze mail shirt. Her hair was damp as if she had just returned from outside. “I can come later if is too late.” The girl offered. _

_“There is no need. It might be improper for a man that is not my husband to visit my chambers at such time, or any time truly, but there are no such restrains among women.” _

_The girl’s face became thoughtful at Cat’s words. “I would rather not add to your burden, yet there is no one else. I am a crannogwoman, I would never wish to change that, but this is a strange world for me. For Bran’s sake, I wish to know more. Maester Talor told me some, but there are some things I can’t learn from men and Lord Ondrew has no women among his kin.”_

_Septa would have been best suited for such task. Catelyn’s own daughters had once been taught by Septa Mordane, but of course Lord Ondrew kept neither septa nor septon. His gods were the old gods of the trees._

_Catelyn smiled at the girl. “Find me tomorrow after morning break and we can begin.”_

***

Even before they called for the bedding, Catelyn headed for a chamber prepared for her in the castle for the night. The corridors, however, were not entirely unoccupied. There was a maid and a guard kissing and letting their hands wander under clothes. Quietly, Cat turned and went a different way. Catelyn was sure she was heading the right way, but instead she found herself outside at the old stairs leading to the godswood. Instead of returning, she decided to follow the path. Sleep would likely not claim her even if she found her bed.

Though Cat came to the castle at least three times a year, the last time she had visited the godswood was almost twenty years ago, shortly after her arrival to White Harbor. Once she entered the grove softly lit by the castle’s windows she remembered why. The young weirwood in her garden had become as familiar to her as an old friend, but the heart three in this place was different. It grew too long and now it stood grotesquely huge with old face twisted in a grimace. The eyes weeping red sap looked at the world with knowledge too terrible for man’s mind. There was no mercy in those eyes. This was the face of the gods who took Bran from her. Even after all those years, it seemed as if these gods were laughing at her last foolish attempts to keep her son from them. _Will you taunt me till my last breath_? Catelyn asked silently.

“Forgive me, I didn’t know anyone else was here.” A voice spoke gently, minding not to startle her. Catelyn turned to a woman in a black gown. Though her short hair was barely salted with white, she did not look much younger than forty.

When the woman saw Cat’s face she frowned and gave her a long searching look, before suddenly all warmth left her face. _She_ _knows me and she isn’t happy to see me. _Catelyn tried to remember herself and in the end she did. It was the woman’s statue which gave her away, more than her face. She was short and slim, even more so that the Blackwood girl Catelyn had met at the feast and she held herself like a hunter rather than a highborn lady. _She is a crannogwoman. _As soon as Cat knew that, she recognized the shape of her brows and curve of her mount. The name came to her lips.

“Meera Reed,” Cat spoke softly. It seemed that neither gods nor ghost would let her rest tonight.

“Lady Catelyn.” The crannogwoman replied. “I wasn’t at the feast and I didn’t plan to attend the tourney. I hoped I would not have to talk to you.”

Catelyn heard the words already tonight, she had to ask. “Do you and Lady Blackwood know each other?”

“Alynor is my daughter.” Meera Reed must have seen disbelief at Cat’s face because she continued. “I married late, only after the Night, my husband wasn’t a crannogman.” Meera paused and when she spoke again her voice was very cold. “I knew you lived here, but I wished to see my daughter too much and King’s Landing never suited me. Now, we meet, even if I didn’t want it. I have not forgiven you, Lady Catelyn, no matter how many years had passed. Stay away from my family.” It was all the Lady of Greywater Watch wanted to tell before she was at leave. She did not wait for Catelyn’s answer and that was for the best, because Catelyn had none.

***

_The life in the Oldcastle did not shift much once Catelyn started to spend more time with Meera Reed, but at last she found her days busier. Catelyn had always got her hands full with managing Winterfell and taking care of younger children. She had not taught her own daughters much, but she found her new role easy enough. Meera, though sometimes as headstrong and curious as Arya, had Sansa’s patience and cheerfulness. As the daughter of the Lord of Greywater Watch she knew some about houses and politics of North and Riverlands. She was less knowledgeable about southern songs, believes or even manners and would sometimes find most mundane things strange, but she was a good listener. _

_Fortnight after their first meeting Catelyn managed to make Meera wear a simple blue gown for a dinner. With no other young highborn woman around, the Reed girl easily became the center of attention. Bran could not keep his eyes from her and for once he appeared a boy he was supposed to be. Catelyn had to wonder what the Reed girl was to her second son. _

_Bran was still so young, but not younger than Petyr had been when he had kissed her for the first. Yet Bran unlike Hoster Tully’s ward would never find closeness with a woman because of his broken body. Meera Reed might have been a suitable bride for the second son of Winterfell once, but now that the girl was her father’s heir Lord Reed was unlikely to agree. Catelyn refused to ponder upon it too much. She was too grateful that the girl managed to take away a strange distant look that would often appear on Bran’s face. Cat even offered to sew Meera a gown more suitable to her station and the girl had agreed with only a slightest hesitation._

_Catelyn had begun to gather all the needed fabrics, threads and laces and the word of Cersei’s arrest had already reached them when, one night, Bran’s scrams woke half of the castle. _

***

The joust had started early after dawn, but Catelyn did not hurry to see it. The sports of knights held no interest for her, and she had slept poorly that night. By the time she reached tourney grounds the sun was well up in the sky and a herald was shouting names of the four, who just barely did not make it to the last three tilts, giving them one last moment of glory. “Ser Jason Rivers! Ser Walder Errenfort! Cregan Woods! Torrsun Thenn!” The man called with thick northern accent. Of those four Catelyn knew only Cregan Woods, the captain of the castle’s guard.

Her face turned from the defeated to the box where the newly married couple sat. Ser Jon was yawning and even Princess Melessa seemed barely awake. The princess held her husbands’ hand and her head rested on his shoulder. Around them the serving girls moved nimbly as any dancers and lords and ladies of noble birth chatted excitedly about display before them. In that cheerful air, young Lady Blackwood stood out as a raven among peacocks. Her gown was almost wholly black. That would have caused talk if black was not one of the girl’s house colors. She sat cold and watchful to her mistress’ left. Just as at the wedding she guarded the basket with princess’ dragon.

As if the dragon felt the attention bestowed on it, the animal roared so loudly that all horses in the yard startled. _How long will it take for the beast to grow too big and dangerous to be treated like a lapdog? _Catelyn had glimpsed one of the big dragons earlier, soaring so high in the sky that she could not even tell if it was Rhaegal or Evening. Though the older dragon was more likely. Word was that Prince Samwell meant to take part in the jousting and surely no one would let a dragon fly rider-less above the city.

The talk about Prince Samwell proved to be right when the blood and splinters were cleared from the tramped ground and the herald called for the last remaining attendants. “Prince Samwell Targaryen of the Kingsguard, the son of his grace King Trystane, the first of his name. Lady Sansa Evenstar, the Lady of Tarth. Come forth and prove your valor!” 

Prince Samwell looked splendid in his white scaled armor, white winged helm and white cloak flowing behind him. Even his brown stallion was richly adorned in white strappings. Nonetheless, it was his opponent who stole all of Catelyn’s attention.

_Her mother must have named her after my own sweet Sansa_. More than thirty years had passed since Catelyn had last seen Brienne of Tarth. It was on that fated night when she sent her fort with Jaime Lannister in a desperate attempt to get her daughters back. Brienne managed to bring the Kingslayer to King’s Landing, though not unharmed. Catelyn never learned much of what happened afterwards. She had heard that Brienne had child and that the young woman had died during the Long Night, but Cat had known neither the babe’s gender nor if it lived. Most children born at that time did not. _I had cursed Brienne thousand times for failing to bring my girls back, but she has never forgotten. Why else call her child after my own daughter?_

Catelyn would have wished for a good glimpse of a Lady of the Tarth but she was clad in unadorned steel head to heels. Her helm did not even have a visor. It was impossible to tell more than that the lady appeared slightly shorter than her mother though still tall for a woman.

The match started evenly and both opponents broke their lances in three runs. In the fourth the prince lost his seat. As he was falling his steel-clad arm ringed loudly against the wooden barrier separating the riders. Princes Melessa jumped from her seat gasping, but her brother was soon standing on his own affords even if he held his injured arm. When prince's squire helped him to get rid of the winged helm his face was soaked with sweat and blood from a cut on his brow and his lips slightly twisted with pain, but he managed to smile for his sister. Princess Melessa started clapping to cheer her kin and all courters followed the lead.

Lady Evenstar rode close to where Catelyn stood among common folk and took her helm off. If the woman felt slighted that the princess had robbed her of her glory, it did not show. Lady Sansa seemed well satisfied. There was even a barest of smiles curving her lips. _She had been fortunate in what gods granted her from her mother’s looks, or her_ _father must have been most striking man, _Catelyn judged. Though not gracile or truly womanly, her face was handsome with well-formed nose and lips. Her hair was fair as Brienne’s once been but more golden than straw-colored and few strands which escaped her braid weaved softly. The lady did get her mother’s pretty, blue eyes, though, and a soft spray of freckles on her cheeks.

“It’s unseemly for a wench to meddle in men’s sports much less when she is already a mother,” muttered a fat woman standing to Cat’s left.

“She is married?” Catelyn had to ask.

“Aye,” the woman snorted. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t. And she has two children. One of them barely of a teat. She left them to fend for themselves at the Tarth, poor sweets. I heard all about her from my brother. He trades carved bone and amber as far as Tarth.”

Whatever they might have spoken of after was lost to the herald’s trumpet. “Ser Wyman Snow, the nephew of Lady Manderly. Ser Oswell Shett in the service of Lord Hubert Shett of Gull Tower. Come forth and prove your valor!” the herald called for the knights. Catelyn could not help but feel soured when she learned that the bastard made it so far, but she could not claim to be surprised. Lady Wynafryd’s nephew was a good lance and even if there might have been many better in the kingdom, none of them were likely to venture North for this wedding.

The crowd soon shared her displeasure when Ser Oswell’s lance missed his opponent in the first run. Wyman, whose lance broke true was quickly declared the victor. _It seems that this tilt will be done even before noon, _Cat thought and she was not wrong. The last two riders at least gave the onlookers a better sport. Ser Wyman and Lady Sansa met no less than twelve times. Five times both broke their lances, but in the last tilt the bastard managed to aim better and unhorse his opponent. The warrior Lady of the Tarth stood to her feet even before her squire could reach her to help, but the victory was lost and the smallfolk and highborn alike were already cheering loudly for the winner. _Do they love him because he rode well, because he was born here, or is it because he managed to put a woman in her place?_ Catelyn mussed unkindly. 

A pink-cheeked boy in Manderly colors walked in the tourney ground holding a crown of wild spring flowers. Nervously he lifted it up so Ser Wyman could take it with his lance. _Who will he crown? _Catelyn did not doubt that the bastard had shared a bed with more than one girl from the harbor, but she doubted he would honor any of them, if they stood among the smallfolk. No, instead he rode towards the royal box. _Will he crown the princess to wheedle her favor? _For a moment it looked so when he stopped right before Melessa Targaryen and Ser Jon, but instead of the princess he gifted the crown to the Blackwood girl next to her.

***

_Catelyn reached Bran’s chamber first and though others soon followed she gracelessly ordered them out. It seemed to anger both Lord Ondrew and Greatjon and hurt Lady Meera, but Catelyn could not care less in that moment. Bran sat on his bed with eyes wide open, but barely aware of the world around him. Once they were alone Catelyn came to him and embraced him. He was drenched in sweat and as cold as a corpse. _

_“He is dead. The blood, the sound of bones breaking ...” his voice failed him._

_“Who?” she asked gently, rubbing smoothing cycles on her son’s back. _

_“Rickon.” _

_If she was not holding her son, Cat would had shivered. But what for, she would not know. It was just a child’s nightmare. “You were only dreaming, Bra. We will find Rickon, I promise,” she told him firmly. _

_The boy ripped from her arms. “You don’t understand!” he shouted with tears in his eyes. _

_Nothing of what she told him afterwards would convince him of her truth. Although he calmed in the end, when she was leaving his chamber well into the morning her heart was heavy. She was torn between fear that he might have been right and nagging worry that more than Bran’s body had been broken by his fall. _

***

Jugglers and puppeteers appeared among the merchant tents – a lot as chaotic, loud and colorful as a murder of birds from Summer Isles. The joust was done, and the rest of the day belonged to them, for the melee was only to begin on the morrow. It had been long decades since Catelyn had found any amusements in such displays. She had been still just a child then, and so were Lysa and Petyr and her father and uncle Brynden were still men at the high of their days. So much had happened ever since, Robert's Rebellion, The War of the Five Kings, The Second Dance of Dragons, another Long Night. And now all of them were ghosts. _Are all men, women and children I once knew already dead?_ But such thought was nonsense. She remembered Wylla Manderly even as a girl from the time when Ned still lived and then there was Meera Reed. Thinking about the crannogwoman filled Cat with uneasiness and shame.

A loud uproar from the crowd took her from her musing. One of the mummers proceeded to show a trick of breathing fire. The noise and the shouts were better than the forlorn silence of her own house. Yet when in the next moment loud woman's laughter turned her head to another direction, Cat came to regret her decision to linger at the tourney.

It was princess Melessa. She was laughing at something her young dragon did, her turned towards the creature perched on her shoulder. Catelyn would not mind meeting Jon's Manderly's new wife so much if it was not for one of the woman's companions. Aside of guards following in polite distance, the princess was flanked by two noble ladies. To her left towered Lady Sansa of Tarth, to her right was Alynor Blackwood. They made for an odd trio. The princess wore a rich gown of cream and green silks and many gold jewels. The Lady of Raventree Hall, in contrast, would appear as stern as a septa in her single black gown if not for a crown of flowers Wyman Snow had given her. Lady of Tarth no longer clad in plate armor decided for leather pants and jerkin with iron studs. She was also more than a head taller than the other two women. 

_Maybe they won't engage me in conversation, _Catelyn thought with hope. Of the three only Lady Alynor would recognize her and the girl had made it clear that she had no wish for Catelyn's company. But then again, gods never learned to be merciful to Catelyn Tully. A brief glance sent her way was the only warning before the princess headed straight to her.

Catelyn curtsied to the younger woman, “Princess.”

“My lady, I’ve glimpsed you at the feast, but we weren't properly introduced,” Princess Melessa spoke with honest curiosity. Lady Alynor had followed her friend, but the girl's face gave nothing away and it did not seem she meant to interfere in this introduction.

“I am Catelyn Tully,” _I am Lady Stark, _she might have said proudly once, but that title and name sounded too much like a pity now.

The princess frowned “A Tully? Are you related to Edmure Tully, who was the last Lord of Riverrun?”

The last lord truly he had been, likely the last forever. Nothing but a watchtower garrisoned by men under king's direct command remained to look over ruins of her childhood home. “He was my brother,” Catelyn answered with a calm honed by decades.

Melessa Targaryen wetted her upper lips as a child questioned at master's lesson. “You were wed to Jon Arryn, weren't you?”

“No, that was my sister Lysa,” Catelyn had to correct the younger woman dancing around yet another sore spot. She had grieved for Edmure, her sweet fool of a brother, and she had grieved for her father, glad that he did not live to see his house crumble to ruins. However, she still could not think of Lysa without anger and disappointment. How many lives could have been saved if Cat's sister had not acted so foolishly upon their last meeting?

“You were the wife of Eddard Stark.” It was Lady Sansa who spoke, her blue eyes bright with interest. “I’ve never known my mother, but the old maester in Evenstar Hall claims that she spoke highly of you. I think, I was named after your daughter.” Lady Sansa hesitated and then somehow sheepishly added. “I wasn't at the welcoming feast, I am Lady Sansa of Tarth.”

Catelyn smiled vainly. “It might be so.”

“My mother spoke about you too, my lady, but much less kindly.” Lady Alynor finally took part in their conversation.

_Did she told you about my shame and grief, about Bran and what have I done? _Catelyn wondered._ Does she still miss my son at least a little_? Of course, the words did not leave her mouth.

It was princess Melessa who saved them from prolonging silence. “My lady, I was honored to meet you, but I am afraid we must depart. Another feast will start soon, Lady Sansa is bound for the ship at the evening’s tide and I think that Viseriol is more than ready for his next meal.” She patted the cram-black dragon on her shoulder affectionately.

“He was named after Viserion? An ill name.” Catelyn almost startled at her own words as soon as they left her mouth. What possessed her to speak so to the princess? And in front of the lady named after Cat’s own dead child. Yet in one way the gods had truly graced Melessa Targaryen, it seemed – she did not offend easily.

The princess laughed at the foreboding words. “Yes, my little Vis was named after Viserion. My nephew _Quentyn_ named him. Quent doesn't believe in ill-omened names and neither do I. Name is just a name. Happy ending or a sad one, none of us know which one will be ours.”

_No_, Catelyn thought, as the young women were leaving, _some things are certain in life - no ending is happy, for there is no joy in decay and death. _

***

_Worries would often make her mind wander as she sewn Meera’s gown. Sometimes Cat would find some part finished not even remembering how she had done it, yet her hands seemed to move nimbly. Cat wished that she could deal with the rest of the world just as easily as with fabrics in her hands. She did not speak with Bran about his nightmare again, but she saw on his face clearly that he still believed in it. More than ever he shunned from his duties and people. And with each passing day more and more often his face held that strange faraway look. Even when his thoughts were not lost elsewhere, the Reed girl become the only company he seemed to welcome. What Howland Reed’s daughter thought of it all, Catelyn was not sure, but she found herself often watching the two of them from afar. Unfortunately, she was not only one who was observing Bran closely. The lords in the castle noticed his withdrawn and once their displeasure became too loud, Cat had no choice but to approach her son._

_She found him in the godswood. Though he must have heard her coming, he did not turn away from the weirwood’s old white face. _

_“This castle is not my place.” At first she was not even sure if Bran was talking to her or the gods, but then he finally looked at her and repeated his words. “This is not my place. I was never meant to return and be a king.”_

_“How can you say so? You are the King in the North the true heir of your father and Robb.”_

_Tears run down his face. Though his eyes were clear blue as hers, for a strange moment she almost felt as if it were the red eyes of the tree looking at her and not her son. “I am not Robb’s heir.” Bran answered her.” I wish Jon could be, but I saw. I saw his death too.” Sobs tore from his throat. “No matter what, I can’t do the right thing. Me, Sansa, Arya, none of us will ever see Winterfell again.” _

_For hours she tried to argue with him, but he told her barely a word after that. At some moments she was not even sure he saw her at all. Catelyn had to ask a maester for a sleeping drought and made Bran drink it. The next day when he woke, it was no better. Despair took hold of her even if before the eyes of the lords she acted calmly. When not a four days later a raven came from Wall with a tidings of Jon Snow’s murder, instead of relief she might have felt once, it brought her only fear._

***

Her morning started in her own house with bread, watered wine and a young bull galloping trough a cobbled street. His owner, a short portly man with a look of butcher chased after the animal shouting for help. Few of bystanders as much as turned their faces, and if so, it was only to laugh at the scene.

“Do you think, he will catch the cattle, m’lady?” asked her maid looking out from the front door. Her name was Bala and she had been helping in Catelyn's house since she was half a girl. She had married and widowed twice by then.

“Maybe, or the wolves in the woods would feast.” Catelyn answered and ordered Bala to shut the door.

The maid shuddered, but a moment later she turned to Catelyn with much more cheerful face. “A boy whose mother was from my village will fight today in the melee. Imagine if he won. He would become a white knight!” Catelyn who had met Ser Jaime Lannister and was less awed by such a questionable honor kept quiet “But that will never be,” the maid continued in her unconcerned manner. “He is half a boy, just a son of some hedge knight, the fool. Who my lady thinks will win? My good-brother wanted to bid fifty coppers on Wyman Snow, but the lad took liking of that Blackwood girl. I doubt he dreams of white cloaks these nights.” Bala laughed as they were returning to the dining room.

Cat managed not to grimace. “I think that the Tall Rick of the castle guard will take the win or his son Tom,” she offered an opinion she had heard. The Tall Rick was thirty-five a sturdy fighter who managed to survive more than one battle. His son was rumored to be just as good with both sword and longaxe, though not yet bloodied.

“If they let them win,” Bala answered, never the one to be careful with her tongue. “I hear young Ser Brandon will fight too. The Kingsguard is place for ladies' grandsons and such. Maybe they will let him win.”

_Could it be true? _Catelyn kept thinking about it the whole way to tourney grounds. She hoped for a better life for Brandon than an empty cold bed in a place such as the Red Keep.

The crowd lured by the melee was just as big as the one from the day before. The joust was the crown of any tourney with melee often just an afterthought, but the prize for the winner was uncommonly plum today. The princess, Ser Jon, Lady Wynafryd and Wynafryd's younger son Wendel occupied the royal box and watched the scene from behind their goblets of wine. Even from where Cat stood, she could hear Princess Melessa laughing at something Ser Jon had said. Lady Blackwood was missing. It was one of her new northern ladies in waiting who was given the dragon. For all the clamor around, the beast seemed to be asleep.

As at the joust, Catelyn reminded below them, middling among common folk. Though this time some of the more prominent folk decided for the same spot. She recognized Cregan Woods, who would have known her, was he not so absorbed in a talk with some other men at arms. Far away, across the tourney ground Catelyn even spotted Meera Reed. Thankfully, they were too far away for greetings, that would not have been exchanged in any case. Still, Catelyn's gaze kept turnings towards the crannogwoman. Soon Lady Meera was joined by her daughter. They looked rather alike. Both short, slim and clad in black. Lady Alynor wore no crown of flowers today and her dark hair swayed in warm spring breeze. 

Onlookers kept coming and soon the first competitors joined them. In the south at many tourneys only knights would be allowed to join the fight, but not so in White Harbor. Here, many noble families still worshiped in the old way and even man who was a lord and bloodied warrior might have never been knighted. Catelyn had to ponder upon her maid’s words again. Would they allow the winner to join the Kingsguard, no matter how humble was his birth? Or would they make sure no such man would win? When a boy entered the tourney ground still arguing loudly with the Master of Games, it became clear that there had been set some restrains. The boy had shaggy blond hair and appeared to be barely of age. His armor was a sorry mismatched assemblage spotted richly with rust, dents and patches, but missing no part as he repeated loudly to the Master of Games.

“I can count dozen places on your armor where it's so rusty that I could make a hole in it with my finger, lad,” the Master of Games retorted.

“Try it,” the boy answered with fire in his eyes.

The older man only shrugged, relenting in the end. “There will be enough men for that soon, far it be for me to keep you from getting killed or crippled. Just make sure not to fall as soon as trumpets sound, or I warn you, I will break all bones that remain whole in your body.”

Other fighters had no such trouble entering the melee, though one was no more than a sellsword with his beard dyed blue and tree were common men at arms. The next two Cat knew at least by their coat of arms – three woolsacks white on purple and grey horse head on black. Woolfield and Ryswell. Tall Rick from the city guard and his son Tom indeed came too and so did Lord Flint's younger son. Though Catelyn had never heard that Eggon Flint was ever renowned for anything but tossing dice. Brandon came among the last, together with Prince Samwell and a tall knight from the royal guard. Brandon's armor was new and well made, but it looked like plain compared to white and gold splendor of the prince. 

The squires looked for the last time over the armor of their masters, the melee ground cleared aside of fighters and the trumpets sounded to herald the beginning. And then, unexpectedly, someone sounded a horn.

***

_The landing of a silver-haired boy from Essos came to them as a rare light in their dark days. If he was a true son of Rhaegar Targaryen long though dead or a pretender, the lords in the Oldcastle cared but a little. He had an army with him, and he sent it against Lannisters. _

_Lord Ondrew decided to prepare a feast even before the boy had taken King’s Landing. Maybe the old lord feared that if he waited too long, the tides would turn again and there would be nothing to cheer for once again. _

_The unexpected return of Targaryens seemed to pour new life into the weary northern lords, but their boy king paid it no more mind that to falling of leaves. Catelyn spend her days watching a son who seemed more dead to the world with each passing hour. She was there, but she was losing him. It was breaking whatever reminded whole in her. _

_Her days were spent in despair. At nights her hands moved in mad frenzy in a room, lit by a light of sole candle, cutting and seaming pieces of dark velvet and black lace. _

***

The sound of the horn seemed to blow away the rest of the world. Suddenly Catelyn found herself in another place and another time. She was not in White Harbor but in the overcrowded Castle of Nightsong in the Dornish Marches. The horn had sounded three times, a legacy of Night Watch's custom, though the Watch was no more even then. Shouts, screams and cries followed. For thirteen days, men fought. Underfed, weary and ill they were firing fire, but all their fuel was growing quickly thin. The last day they put down the roof of one of the towers forcing its inhabitants to face the raging snowstorms, just so they had anything to put aflame. It was that last day when Catelyn found herself walking the wall's parapet, bringing food to the fighters and taking care of wounded and exhausted. She was just tiptoeing with piles of their last ale behind an archer who was kindling another arrow, when a part of the wall's merlons crumbled down with the very same man. Terrified she had turned towards the abyss which emerged suddenly in front of her. She looked down into the darkness and hundreds of glowing blue eyes looked back. Then and now someone touched her arm and she was freed from the fear that had bound her more tightly than any irons.

_I am in White Harbor_, she repeated to herself. _Winter is done, it’s gone, in the past, I need never fear it again_. Still, she felt as cold as if her own clothes turned to ice. Few of the older folk had gone white and one old man even fainted, to the amusement of two beardless squires nearby. Those who lived the Night learned to fear the sound of horn, but the young could not understand. They never would. Today the horn did not sound the armies of dead, it was just some lordling who had too much wine. The accusing gaze of gathered folk found him quickly. He was a portly man in his thirties leaning uncertainly against his companion. The drunkard's comrade quickly took away the horn from lordlings hands with an embarrassed face. Some lady in the royal's box laughed nervously and the mood was broken. Catelyn turned to the melee ground to find that the fight had already started.

The fighters grouped to three small battles. Prince Samwell and his guard went for Eggon Flint who allied with the blue-bearded sellsword. Whatever Flint had paid the man beforehand, or it was an alliance born from the moment, Catelyn could not tell. Either way, it did not seem as a wise choice. The prince and his guard seemed determined to be rid of men they deemed unworthy of the prize.

The Tall Rick and his son Tom woken beneath unlucky stars that morn. Their opponents were not so formidable as the prince, but they were three against two, all three men without the sigils decided to fight side by side. Even Catelyn could tell by their movements that they did not fight together for the first time.

The fight which interested her the most, however, started farthest away from her and she could not see it well. Brandon and the blonde lad in the old armor were fighting furiously against the Woolfield and Ryswell man. Catelyn would had wished for a better ally for Brandon than a green boy, but the youth seemed to hold his ground.

Eggon Flint was the first one to fall, when Prince Samwell managed to unarm him with a well-aimed blow which sent his sword flying from his hand. The royal's guardsman took little longer to run the sellswords to his knees and even kneeling the blue-beard managed to hit one of the guard's ankles. The prince's man stood his ground, and finally drove the man to surrender, but his walk became stiffed, hindered by pain or injury.

Tall Rick with his blunted longaxe already left one man lying on the ground. The fighting was too intense and too close for anyone to climb the barrier and see if the man was dead or alive. Rick was about to finish another man, when he turned to shield his son from a dangerous blow and that choice had cost him victory.

Brandon and the boy were the last one to overpower their initial foes. The boy done so with his rusted sword, but Brandon found himself on the ground fighting with knees and fits as both him and his opponent lost their weapons. _Too soon_, Catelyn thought, _he lost his sword too soon_. For already the rest of the fighters were circling them, using them as a barrier to keep the distance from each other. Catelyn watched it with growing uneasiness.

Finally, Brandon managed to give the Ryswell's man a savage blow on his iron-glowed fist the man gave up. Brandon stood up quickly reaching for a weapon, but his hand found only a Ryswell shield before another foe was at him.

Catelyn looked at the boy who had been Brandon's ally. The lad still had his sword, poor as it looked, but he decided to fight his own battle and went for the prince's guard with attack so intense, that it drew eye of every bystander surrounding the melee ground. The boy forced the older man to retreat at least six feet before he finished him. Only to come face to face with the prince. It that moment everyone must have been asking, if today was the day when a song would come true and a poor boy manages to fight for his place in the Kingsguard.

So absorbed they were in those two men eyeing themselves with their upright swords, that barely anyone was watching the other fighters. At least until the sound of iron being bend, flesh being pierced and shout of pain draw their attention. Catelyn turned and to her horror saw that the sound came from Brandon.

He still stood, but blood came in heavy flow down his right knee, soaking through slits between iron plates. His foes blunted axe must had found a weak spot in his armor and stroked his right knee. Brandon let go of his shield and hold up his hand in surrender. He barely managed to limp towards the barrier before he fainted.

Catelyn was vaguely aware of the unrest in the royal's box, where lady Wynafryd stood and hurried to her grandson. Instead Catelyn's eyes found Wyman Snow. He appeared seemingly out of nowhere and was the first one to reach his cousin. Wyman’s look met hers for a moment, but then other people came between them. Catelyn hurried to Brandon too, but she was too far away. Lady Blackwood, Lady Manderly and her master and even Meera Reed were already by his side. They were already taking Brandon to the castle before Catelyn managed to reach him through the crowds.

***

_Meera came to her on the eve before the feast. She looked uncertain. “I know it’s a trifle thing, but I hoped you could help me with a dress on the morrow.” The shyness had taken years from her and in that moment, she seemed almost as young as Cat’s own daughters. Though the look on her face was not familiar. Sansa had been always so sure of her place in the world and took it with perfection. Arya was another matter entirely. Catelyn’s younger daughter fit the role of the lady as well as fish fit trousers. Yet, the less the world seemed to have a place for Arya, the more determined she had been to make her own with nails and teeth. It this, Meera was unlike them. _

_Catelyn took girl’s hands in hers._

_“Don’t worry about it I promised you a new gown, didn’t I? It’s almost done. It will be ready for the morrow.”_

_“Thank you, Lady Catelyn. I am glad for the feast. I want to hear the songs you told me about. Winter is coming, but we should laugh a little until it’s here. And even Bran seemed happier about the celebration. He told me, he wished to see me dance. _

Did he? _Cat wondered. But she just smiled at the girl, keeping her mind to herself. _

***

She was not allowed to Brandon's chambers on the first day, the second, or the third. The talk of the melee was all over the city. The boy in an old armor, who came by the name of Wat, had lost to the prince in the end. One of the fighters had died of a blow to the head and some were displeased that the prince won so no one was named into Kingsguard. None of that interested Cat pinch as much as how Brandon Flint was faring. When she could not get a word from trustworthy mouth, she started to pry for gossip and soon even her maid grew weary of her repeating questions. It was to no avail. The tales were too many and too different.

It was half a fortnight after the melee and the princes were about to depart, when Cat finally caught a wisp of true tidings by chance. She was just bargaining a price for a new carpet, when Alynor Blackwood entered the same merchant's shop. The girl looked around but did not notice Catelyn hidden by a part of the shop's ware. The young Lady of Raventree Hall left as quickly as she came. Catelyn abandoned her own purchase to a notable disappointment of the Dornish shop owner and hurried out. She was not quick in her years, but Alynor Blackwood was in no haste and Catelyn caught up with her easily.

The lady’s face grew quickly guarded, when she recognized who had addressed her. “Good morn to you, Lady Stark.” She greeted with reserved courtesy.

A silent moment stretched between then and Catelyn felt as if Lady Alynor kept back her words, likely not pleasant ones. In the end Cat decided to take the silence as an encouragement.

“How is Brandon faring, do you have any tidings?” she asked. The Blackwood girl was no kin to Manderlys, but she was housed in the castle and a friend to the princess.

Maybe Catelyn only imagined it, but the young lady's gaze seemed to soften just a bit. Again, she did not speak right away, not to Catelyn at least. She turned to a serving man accompanying her and sent him back to the castle. Only when he was out of earshot, she continued.

“How crowded is your house, my lady?”

“I have no need for large household, I keep only a sole maid. Today she is with her niece.”

Lady Blackwood nodded at that answer and Catelyn took it as a request to lead the way.

As always Cat’s house looked queerly dwarfish squinting between tall buildings which had grown around it. She took out a key, opened a blue-painted door and let the girl through a small hall to her modest dining room.

Lady Blackwood seated herself and her eyes roamed Catelyn's home with lukewarm interest, until her face widened with surprise the moment, she looked through the window into the garden.

“We can go there,” spoke, Cat who knew very well what caught Alynor Blackwood's attention.

Lady Blackwood hurried to the weirwood with easy quickness of youth. She touched the uncarved trunk lightly. “I have never seen one so young.” The girl's voice was hushed, her aloofness forgotten for a moment. “It's likely younger than me.” Lady Alynor almost smiled, but when she turned to Cat, her face was serious.

“I had not seen Ser Brandon yet, but Princess Melessa visited him twice with Ser Jon and Wyman sees him every day. His life is not in danger, but he's healing only slowly and his leg will never be good again. He won't be able to fight or even walk without a cane. Wyman is afraid that his cousin had taken that news very badly.”

Catelyn's heart squeezed with pain to hear about Brandon's plight. She had to see him, and now she was surer than ever that the only person to make that possible was his bastard cousin, she despised. She looked thoughtfully at the girl. _When did you grow so close that Snow boy, to be his confidant?_ Cat did not ask more. The peace between them was too new and fragile. “Thank you for telling me,” she allowed to the girl.

Alynor Blackwood held Cat’s gaze. “Whatever else you might have ever done, you clearly care about Brandon. It seemed cruel not to tell you. And if I must be honest, ever since our first meeting, my curiosity grew. What truly happened between you and my mother?” 

“It's not my place to share it, but I can at least tell you some of what was happening at that time. What do you know about my children, my lady?”

Lady Blackwood seemed surprised by the question, but she answered. “Your eldest son became the King in the North. He was killed at the Red Wedding. Your daughter Sansa was a hostage at King's Landing and later married Tyrion Lannister. She disappeared after he was imprisoned. Your two youngest sons were killed by Theon Greyjoy, who had been fostered at Winterfell.”

“You are wrong only about two things.” Catelyn answered quietly. “Firstly, I had two daughters.” Some still remembered Sansa. She had been betrothed to King Joffrey and killed him according to certain tales, and she had been married to Tyrion Lannister the Imp, but no one ever learned what had happened to her. From what Cat heard not even Tyrion Lannister knew about her whereabouts after Joffrey's death. No one talked about Arya, but she had been Cat’s child too. Catelyn would never forget either of them. “The second thing is, that it was not Theon who killed my sons, though most believe so.”

Alyson Blackwood was quick to remember the link between the story and her question. “My mother was at the Winterfell when it was taken, my uncle Jojen too. They escaped, but my uncle died.”

“They escaped and my sons with them. They parted ways with my youngest Rickon and headed North. Your uncle died, and I have never learned where Rickon went.” Though after so many years and everything which took place, Cat had to accept that Bran had the right of it and Rickon was dead. “Bran and your mother met the mountain clans and they had taken them to the Oldcastle. That was the place I was taken too after the Red Wedding.”

Lady Blackwood frowned. “Mother never told me this and my father loved history. He could talk about it for hours. Robb had been the only King in the North since the Conquest. Surely, if his brother lived, he would have been crowned too.”

“That is true,” Catelyn answered sadly and told her about Bran.

***

_It did not take Catelyn long to prepare for Lord Ondrew’s feast. She was a widow, a wife of a dead lord and mother of a dead king. It had been another life, when she spent hours fretting about her dress, before meeting her bethronged for the first time. And it had been all for naught even then. It had been her father’s name and her father’s sword, Lord Rickard had wanted for his son, not her. When Brandon died, she married his younger brother, as Brandon would have married her sister Lysa had it been Cat who had perished. That was the way of their world._

_Meera Reed may have been yet too young to know that. Far from ready, Catelyn found the girl just finishing her bath._

_Cat offered to brush girl’s hair herself as she done for Sansa so many times. It was also her who helped her dress and made the Reed girl’s hair. There was no mirror in the chamber, but once it was done, Meera looked down at the gown she was wearing. Uncertainty settled at her face._

_“Is it supposed to look like this?” The girl found it in herself to ask, even if the dress was a gift. “I never saw such gown on a lady.”_

_“You never were at the feast like this.” Catelyn answered calmly. Strange calmness settled over her as if she was drowning in the world around her, or maybe dreaming, but she would not wake._

_There was a little risk of the Oldcastle’s Great hall being overcrowded even for a feast. Yet, when Catelyn and Meera Reed arrived there were three men outside its huge oaken door making use of hall’s quietness. The youngest, a squire with a face afflicted by pimples and the oldest, some Locke cousin resembling a molted heron continued to argue about the progress of the Golden Company in the South._

_ It was the man in the middle in both age and height who went quiet as first. His nose was misshapen and scarred by some old injury. He gave Cat barely a glance, but his eyes leered over Meera taking all liberties looking at the spans of flesh hardly concealed by sheer lace. And when the squire and the old man finally broke from their quarrel their looks were no different. None said a word as they were passing them, but even as they entered the hall, they could hear the voice of old Locke clearly. “Gods be good, I haven’t seen such a gown since I last visited fancy brothel in Oldtown!” His laughter was even louder._

_Meera turned to Catelyn with a pleading look, but the older woman gave her not as much as a glance. The looks, the titters and the whispers continued even as they were seated at the dais. After some time, the Reed girl gathered her courage and addressed her directly, but before she could truly speak servants announced the arrival of their king, just as an unexpected storm broke outside of the castle’s walls._

***

Was it necessarily which finally led her to Wyman Snow? Had she become hopeful after the Blackwood girl warmed to her? Catelyn did not know even as she walked down the cobbled streets. The bastard was not in his house, but his steward directed her to the harbor. 

Streets surrounding the docks seemed crowned that morning and Catelyn soon learned why. The dragons were here. Not the princess’ young hatchling, but Rhaegal and Evening. They flew at high speed barely above the waves only to shoot straight up just as quickly.

Catelyn watched them with the rest for a while. Dragons were true wonder the time. _And the reminder of the King’s Landing’s power_.

The beasts and their riders came back down one last time and then headed to the castle. When it became clear that they would not return, the crowd began to thin. Catelyn moved too to be done with her own business.

She had to give up two silver stags, and grit her teeth to be fooled at least once, before finally a barefoot orphan girl led her to Wyman, for no more than half of an orange. The bastard was speaking with a well-clad man from the Free Cities. Catelyn waited for her turn patiently.

“Lady Catelyn, I would not expect you.” Wyman Snow quickly put an insolent smile on his face, but not fast enough to hide his surprise.

“I want to see Brandon.”

“He doesn’t want to see anyone. Even I had to threaten and bribe the castle guards to get to him.”

“Please,” The word left her lips only with the greatest effort.

Catelyn could not read the bastard’s face, but when Wyman Snow finally spoke again, his words were not for her, but to call a carriage.

The ride to the castle was far from comfortable, but Cat’s mind was too preoccupied to notice most of the bumps and holes on the street. Wyman kept quiet, instead of looking at her, his eyes overlooked the streets passing by. 

“I am doing it for Brandon, not for you. I have tried everything else,” he told her, as they were walking the last part of their journey to the New Castle.

He was not lying when he claimed that Brandon had no taste for visitors. There was a guard at the door of his bedchamber and only bastard’s glib tongue got them past. Wyman Snow entered without a knock and Catelyn followed him.

Brandon was not asleep, and he was not alone either. The girl in his bed shrieked and quickly reached for the blankets to better cover them both. She was older and gained some weight since Catelyn had seen her, but the black hair and wide lips were the same.

“Mina, get dressed, I will talk to you later,” Wyman spoke before he led Catelyn out. The door stayed open and they could hear the rustle of clothes and soft thuds before Mina came. Snow let the girl to the guard and with few quiet words the man and the girl were leaving the corridor. The bastard did not follow them, instead he returned to his cousin’s bedchamber and Catelyn came after him.

They found Brandon dressed in a long sleeping tunic, sitting on his bed. His injured leg was stretched and hindered by splints. He looked very thin and as if he had aged ten years, but the most unsettling was the fury in his eyes. He did not even seem to see her, his eyes were focused on Wyman.

“Am I a child or a senile that you need decide what I do every minute of my life? You took the girl to me, even if I didn’t care to see her again. And when I finally warm to her, you feel free to spy upon us as you please?”

“I did not think to find her here. It has been days since I called her, and you had looked far from pleased then.”

“I changed my mind.” Brandon retorted petulantly. “It was good to feel like a man and not a cripple for a change. At least until you walked in.”

Catelyn had never seen the two to speak like that. “Brandon, we care for you.”

“Aunt Cat,” his voice took up sick sweetness, “you came to see me? You, had. Now you can both piss off.”

She could not find her tongue, he had always been such a sweet boy.

“Brandon, you need to put yourself together.” His cousin insisted. 

Whatever retort Brandon had from them, it was interrupted by the arrival of other visitors.

“Ser Brandon, I hope you are feeling better.” Princess Melessa who entered together with Lady Blackwood greeted him with ready smile as if she had heard nothing of the previous conversation.

“No, I am feeling worse. NOW BEGONE, YOU BLIND COW!” he shouted as loudly as he could muster. The princess startled, she was a daughter of a king and the wife of the future Lord of White Harbor, he had no right to speak to her in that manner. Likely no one have ever spoken to her like that. Catelyn saw her freeze with shock and maybe even fear.

“You grandmother will hear of this, Ser Brandon.” Alynor Blackwood told him coldly and led the shaken princess out. Snow turned to the Blackwood girl and for a moment it seemed as I he wanted to tell her something, but in this he remained quiet. Numbly, Catelyn noticed, that for once the girl’s dress was white and not black, but I did not help to lighten the mood at all.

***

_Lord Ondrew’s wheelwright had added small wheels to a ponderous ornate chair. It was better than if the king was carried by servants as a babe, but the damned thing squeaked a creaked in a way that made people stop their talk and stare. Seated in the chair with richly embroidered blanket hiding his broken legs Bran looked both too young and too old to be someone’s king._

_Catelyn watched her son observe the room, but she had to wonder if he even saw it. Bran had that aloof look again. Almost as if all of this was happening some other time, at some other place, no more than a distant memory or a dream. _

_To her growing disquiet, Bran did not answer Ondrew Locke’s greeting and barely a flicker of recognition passed his face, when he looked at her. His eyes softened, however, when they passed Meera Reed. Corner of his mouth twitched as if he were to smile, but halfway it stopped and turned into a frown. _

_He saw the gown, Cat knew. Bran saw, what she had done. Her son did not look at the crannogwoman as the other men. _He is too young, still too young!_ Catelyn thought frantically. She had done everything to claw him back to their world, to her. But it was not enough! Despair too hold of her, when she realized her scheme did not work. It had been desperate, mad. _You have gone mad, Catelyn Stark_, part of her told her firmly and that woman sounded just as a poised lady of a great house, she had always considered herself to be. _

_ Catelyn might have started to truly laugh like a madwoman then, and all of them would have known, but in that moment the door of the hall opened again. The sound of old wood and iron hinges drowned in another thunder._

***

Rain was uncommonly heavy for spring that day. Cat sat at her table watched her garden through the window. She had sent Bala to the marked for fresh fish and cheese and before the maid returned, she had nothing much to do. Days like this were the worst. Just a sound of plate being put on the table would take her back to the feast at the Twins. Any shadow would move, and she would be back in Renly’s tent. A croak of a raven would send her to Oldcastle. The slightest chill, and it would seem to her that the last winter had returned. Though today she had a fresher plight to haunt her mind. She could repeat to herself thousand times that Brandon Flint would live and that was all that mattered, but she could not believe it.

A loud knocking startled her. It could not be Bala, it was too early, and the maid had her own key besides. When the person began to shout too, Cat almost decided not no answer, but then she recognized the voice. It was Wyman Snow.

He all but stormed inside. “What in the seven hells did you tell her?!” he asked angrily.

“Whom?” Catelyn could not understand.

“Nora Blackwood. I know she visited you two days past. I wanted to ask for her hand. She seemed pleased enough with me in the last days and then suddenly this morning she told me that she is to marry my cousin Wendel! He is still a child and besides, have they even spoken? It doesn’t make sense!”

_But it does. The girl is no fool. Wendel is trueborn son of Lady of White Harbor, you are a bastard. _Wyman was older, more outspoken and more handsome than Wendel, but a ruling Lady should know the difference between flirt and marriage. Even one yet to reach eight and ten.

“We didn’t speak of you. Why would I even need to discourage the lady. You are not a good match, you had to know that yourself.”

“Why? Because I don’t think being a trader is less than being a knight? My mother left me some gold, but not enough to sit idly for the rest of my life. I would not live from the leavings of her family or hope for fleeing luck in tourneys. I know many lords who had no other pastime than to spend their family’s wealth, why it is less honest to work and gain something?”

“Not all your dealings are as honorable, as you make them sound. What about that girl, Mina?”

Wyman Snow looked at her with both anger and hurt. “Do you know where I met her? Begging at the streets of Sistertown. Her husband was a drunk and debtor. In the end he got himself killed in a quarrel and she was left with nothing but the rags she wore. I took her to White Harbor, and when her family refused to take her back, I found her a good service. I love Brandon more than you, but it was him, who ruined her. And he would not be even bothered to meet her once he heard she was back in the city.” 

“How can I believe you when you smuggled her to your cousin’s bed as if she was a common whore?”

“I did not force her to bed him. I was desperate. I told you I tried everything! You saw how he is. He cared for her once. I thought that she might cheer him.” That all sounded all too familiar, but Cat would not allow herself to dwell on that.

“I am not a villain, why do you hate me so much?” Wyman Snow asked her finally.

_You remind me of too many men, who caused me pain and … _“You are a bastard.”

“Is that all?” He sounded as if he could not even believe her. “Who cares these days? Jon Snow was a bastard too and he was a hero.”

Catelyn might have laughed. “Do you remember who are you speaking with? When I tended to my firstborn in the nursery, I would listen to that boy’s wails for hours. I never turned to him. When my husband went off to fight the Greyjoys, I had him eat with servants. When Jon Snow was four and ten, he took the black because I would not stand his presence under my roof. If he came to me the day he defeated the Others, I would not love him any more than when my husband first told me of his existence.”

The young man looked at her shocked. Jon Snow was a hero. In King’s Landing he had a statue bigger than Baelor’s. Every young lording was taught what maester’s written of his life. Orphan boys playing on streets would set their sticks afire and play at being him. Girls in the last nameless village would pretend he was coming to save them from captors and kiss them. But she, who might have been the last living person who had known him well would never find it in herself to love him.

***

_The newcomer brought coldness and damp with him. More than one candle withered and quenched. He was a tall man with a thinning sand-colored hair. No more than forty, he seemed like a fieldhand by both face and garb. There were cuts and scratches at his face and hands and water was dropping from his torn clothes, be he seemed not to mind. _

_“Brandon Stark, you will come with me,” the man said in an odd raspy voice. _

_“Who in Seven Hell’s you…” Lord Ondrew’s words were interrupted by a thunder._

_“I will go,” Cat’s son answered before she could have thought to stop him. _

_All heads turned to Bran at his words, so no one saw the first raven come through the door. But another followed. The bird’s black wings quenched two candles in the largest chandelier in the hall and the creature sat itself insolently at the cooling wax, only to promptly shit at the hall’s granite floor. Two more ravens appeared out of nowhere, and another, and another. The whole flock of them, more numerous than what the maester kept in the castle. _

_The assembly of the feast watched the birds in horror and astonishment and she the fool with them. The ravens’ wings keep shushing out the candles and even the torches at the walls until none remained burning. The hall was filled with darkness._

_In a sudden moment of panic and understanding Cat looked towards Bran’s chair. She saw nothing at first, only when another lightning stroke the truth was revealed to her eyes. It was empty. The embroidered blanket laid abandoned on the floor. _

_“BRAN!” she screamed, “Bran! Where is my son?! Where is the king?! You have to find him!” she pleaded to anyone who would listen. But when the ravens flew away as quickly as they appeared and the candles and torches were lit again, there was no sign of the strange man who came uninvited, or Catelyn’s son. _

***

Catelyn had not expected to see Wyman again so soon. Without Brandon’s presence there was little their lives had in common. The sight of him was an unwelcome surprise, but at least they did not speak that day.

In truth, Catelyn had forgotten that it was the day the princess was supposed to give farewell to her brothers. Cat came to Fishfoot’s Square to bargain the price for lamb and the assembled crowd took her by surprise. Not as many came to see the dragons leave as there were at their arrival. Still, Cat knew at once that save elbowing the bystanders, she would have to wait.

The princes were already standing by their dragons. Their sister came to them and gave each a kiss on the cheek before she turned to walk back to her husband. Halfway Melessa Targaryen changed her mind teary-eyed run to her brothers to give them one last hug. As they parted, Ser Jon Manderly came to his wife and took her in his arms. The day the princess had arrived she had been dressed in her house colors. Today her jewels were wrought by silversmiths from White Harbor, her hair was braided in northern style and her green gown matched her husband’s doublet. Though nothing could have hidden the difference in height between the husband and wife. 

The rest of the Manderly family was not far away. Lady Wynafryd stood tall and solemn surrounded by remaining courtiers. _How many of those southerners would linger even past next tide with the princes are leaving? _Wynafryd’s younger son Wendel was to his mother’s right together with Alynor Blackwood. They were staying close to each other. The girl wore white again and held a chain with princes’ dragon. Her other hand rested on Wendel’s arm. Wyman Snow stood with stormy face away from his kin, but his eye would not leave the Blackwood girl. With fool’s hope, Catelyn searched for Brandon, but of course, he was not there. 

“May this city prosper in king’s peace. I will not forget the hospitality I was given here.” The crown prince Mogan called from atop his dragon before Rhaegal leaped into the sky. Prince Samwell took one last look to the surrounding crowds. His eyes searched for any danger till the last moment as was his duty. His serious face broke only when he gave the last smile to his sister. In a blink, Evening was flying too.

They were not even half a league away, when a shriek drowned all the other noises of the square.

With a cry Viseriol had taken his first flight. The young dragon was still on a leash and Lady Alynor hung on it with both hands. She shouted a curse, but it was of no use. The beast managed to free itself and Alynor Blackwood fallen backward. Luckily for the girl, instead of hard cobbles there were Wendel’s arms.

The beast soared above them, giving a helpless cries, but the older dragons were already far away. Finally, Viseriol had to return to the ground and Princess Melessa ran to him, both laughing and shouting calming words as if the beast was a child who had fallen after its first steps.

Today the young dragon would not reach his mighty kin. _But he will grow soon. _The age of dragons came again, even to White Harbor._ I do not belong to it_. Suddenly Cat felt so very old.

“Lady Catelyn, would you have a cup of spiced wine with me?” Cat had not even noticed when Lady Wynafryd came to her. She would have refused if not for the forlorn look in the younger woman’s face. Something was wrong.

Wynafryd Manderly led her to the most luxurious Inn at the square. Its common room was well lit and decorated with panels of painted wood and mosaics depicting krakens, whales, mermaids and all other creatures which were supposed to inhabit the deep seas. Only one other table was occupied by two Myrish traders and their escort, but Catelyn doubted that the place was built with an intend to ever be full.

Wynafryd choose a seat facing a garden, while her guards remained in some distance.

“Have you heard of Brandon in last days?” The Lady of White Harbor asked Catelyn once the serving man brought them their order.

“I went to visit him with Ser Wyman, but –”

“I heard of that,” Lady Wynafryd interrupted with some impatience. “I meant after.”

“No.”

The woman’s face fell.

“What happened, my lady?” Catelyn asked, not certain she even wanted to hear the answer.

“My grandson disappeared. I spoke to that girl he was trifling with. She told me he once spoke of boarding a ship or joining a sellsword company, but…”

_Who would have him with a bad leg? _It was a kindness to leave that unsaid.

“How could it all go wrong so quickly?” Wynafryd eyes glistened with unshed tears. “With Brandon and Wyman too. This morning my nephew stormed into prince’s quarters and demanded a single combat. We are fortunate these dragons are more agreeable that the old ones. Prince Samwell even allowed him to join the Kingsguard, when Wyman bested him, but he might have as well asked for my nephew’s head.”

Catelyn was not the one to be unthrifty, but on her return home she had to call for a carriage. Walking to the Fishfoot Square had barely seemed as a hard chore. Coming back, her house might as well be as far as Dorne. All her joints ached, her breath was short and her head seemed to pound with every move. Her thoughts were dark and heavy.

Midday break found her tired and without appetite. Catelyn retired for bed even as the sun was high in the sky. Bala gifted her with a worried look, but Cat avoided to answer the maid’s unsaid question.

For hours Cat laid in bed, not even close to sleep. She could hear the noise of the street and Bala moving about the house, but her own mind was elsewhere. She thought about all the loved ones who left her over the years and the pain every loss caused her. And it seemed that no sooner a sleep granted her some mercy, she was awakened.

The voices were quiet but would not stop. Bala was arguing with someone in the hall. Catelyn was too weary for any visit, but when the talk would not end, she took her robe and came to have a look at the intruder. It was Meera Reed.

“I am too tired for visitors, my lady.” Catelyn greeted her without much heart. Any other day, speaking to this woman might have stirred more feelings in her, but the morning drained her. She felt numb.

“For Bran’s memory, may I enter. I am leaving on the morrow.” It was his name that grated the Reed woman the entry.

Meera did not wait to be seated. Instead she headed straight to the garden as if she had been there thousands of times. She halted only once she was by the young weirwood. Slowly she stretched her hand to the white trunk, but she could not bring herself to move her fingers and gap the rest of the distance. For the first time since they reunited, Catelyn saw the cold mask on Meera’s face crack. Tears appeared in the crannogwoman’s green eyes. Unlike Lady Wynafryd, she let them fall.

“I dreamed of this place. I didn’t know it was real until Nora told me. I have berated her for coming here, yet I could not help myself. You feel him in this place too, don’t you?”

She did not have to tell Cat who she meant.

“Do you miss him?” Catelyn asked. Bran deserved to be missed and she needed to hear the words.

Meera seated herself at the low wall, but still, her hand would not touch the tree. “Every day.”

“You moved on with your life.”

The younger woman turned to Catelyn with defiant raise of her chin, though her eyes were still wet. “How could I not? I survived the winter, when so many others did not. My people needed some hope, I needed it too. And happiness. I got that from my marriage and more, when my daughters were born.” A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth despite her tears. “Alynor and Jyana were born not an hour apart, but they could not be more different. Jyana is a crannogwoman to the bone. It was her who helped Prince Morgan when he and his escort got lost near the Neck. But when she was offered a position in the Red Keep as the reward, she knew at once it was her sister’s place. Neither me nor Jayna have any taste for courts, but Nora was born for it.”

_Yes, she has the ruthlessness. _Wyman Snow had learned that to his sorrow. Catelyn would not feel sorry for the bastard, nor she would speak her mind to the girl’s mother. Her own heart ached with envy and longing. Once she had two girls as different as day and night too. What would she give to have them back? Her pretty Sansa, so perfect in her manners and wild little Arya, who made her parents hold their breath with her recklessness. 

“I believe Alynor has it in herself, never let anyone hurt her, as you hurt me.” Meera Reed continued. “I didn’t know better, I trusted you, and you treated me like a dirty rag.”

_And you will never forgive me. _Catelyn understood it was not her who Howland Reed’s daughter came to give her farewells. She left her alone.

***

_Lord Locke send as many men at arms after them as he could spare, hunters and trackers with the hounds too, but to no avail. Come morning none of them had found as much as a trail. _

_In the following days, the search continued. Some small part of Cat noticed that the Reed girl took no part in it. The maiden had left the castle quietly, her shame almost forgotten in the chaos. _

_It had been months but before they truly gave up and began to ponder what to do with another king lost, the Wall fell. The winter like no one could remember came. Even Catelyn, who thought that nothing could wake her from her grief had to flee south and fight with all her strength to survive. _

***

It was still deep night, when Cat awaken restless. It might have been a dream that woke her. A feeling of it still lingered in her mind, but she could not remember it.

The night seemed bright. Instead of returning to her rest she got up and walked towards the garden. The night chill’s rose goose bumps on her arms, but she paid it little mind. Moon was nowhere in sight, but the stars appeared uncommonly bright. In their light, the white trunk of the young weirwood seemed to glove. Catelyn seated herself at the bench, barely noticing the coldness of it. Her hand reached for the pale trunk, but her eyes turned to the sky.

The belly of the Ice Dragon was above her. She had been just a girl, when maester Kym taught her names of stars in her father’s castle. Her own children were no older when maester Luwin lectured them of the same in Winterfell. All but Bran. He must have been no more than five, when cat found him perched on stable’s roof one night, bright as this one. When she finally coaxed him down to her arms, he still could not tear his eyes from the sky. Instead of scolding him for climbing, she found herself taking his little hand to hers. One after another she showed him all the constellations and taught him their names.

“Mother.”

A man was standing to her left. He was little older that the years gods granted to her Ned and taller, but very thin. His hair was auburn with greying streaks at his temples. She still knew his blue eyes better than her own.

“Bran.” She breathed. She looked around, the weirwood and the stars were still there, but she was no longer sitting. She was standing and meadows were weaving softly around her as far as an eye could see. Only beyond the weirwood flowed a wide river.

_Am I dreaming?_ She stretched her hand towards the man that was her little son and felt stubble on his cheek. “I miss you. Why did you go for so long?” She told him with tears in her eyes.

“Was it long?” he asked carelessly. “The time is different here.” He turned to the river and she saw that there were people at the other bank.

Cat found herself walking to them, stopping only when her feet were almost in the current. Her eyes would not dry. There was Ned, looking as the day they told each other their last farewells at King’s Landing. And Robb, tall and proud with crown on his head. Rickon with his shaggy hear was bigger than she remembered though still a child. Sansa’s hair was dyed brown and she looked almost a woman grown, but Cat would know her anywhere. To the side of Cat’s family stood a boy no older than twelve. She was sure she had never seen him in life. He had a dusky skin and dark black hair. Yet the long face and grey eyes were achingly familiar.

“Arya’s firstborn,” Bran told her.

The boy shouted something at them and when Cat looked back at Ned, she saw he was speaking too, but the current was too strong. She could not understand them.

“Can we go to the other side?”


	2. Appendix and Maesters’ notes

(334) King Trystane dies of chill, his dragon Symeon dies the same day. The pitiful creature could not abide the loss of the only man who ever loved it, singers like to sing.

(333) Rhaegal lies five eggs. Only two are considered big enough to hold a healthy dragon, yet one other hatches. A cream-colored dragon called Viseriol bonds with princess Melessa, Bluebreath with indigo and purple scales bonds with king's grandson Quentyn aged only nine. The third one is a milk-white stunted creature with deformed wings and blind eyes. Yet the tale goes that this is only this dragon that the king Trystane claims himself. It's supposedly his grace who names the hatchling Symeon. At the same moon turn Princess Melessa aged one and twenty is finally granted worthy of betrothal to Ser Jon Manderly the heir of White Harbor. This is the final event which shapes our glorious kingdom to the form we know. From the times of king Trystane's children to our century the Gulltown will gradually lose its prominence until Prince Robert becomes its last dragonrider, but The White Harbor, Lannisport, King's Landing and Oldtown will grow and prosper and became the seats of royal dragon riders and four mighty pillars of our world.

(330) Princess Alysanne marries Theo Marbrand. She and her husband are given Casterly Rock and Lannisort as the wedding gift, to the displeasure of Lannisters of Lannisport. Gerod Lannister of Lannisport is executed a month later for plotting treason. With him dies the Lannister demands for the city and the fortress.

(328) Princess Nymeria marries Ser John Redford, the dashing young Lord of Gulltown, in a rushed ceremony. Some whisper it is so the bride would still fit her gown. And truly, a healthy child is born only six moon turns into marriage

(327) Princess Nymeria and Alysanne bond with dragons Sleeper and Longsoar at the day of their thirteenth nameday. In the same month Prince Daeron dies trying to claim Bloodclaw. It becomes a sad truth that not all children in the royal family are gifted with the blood of the dragon. Till our days every seventh who tries to bond with adult dragon dies for the attempt. Some of the royal family wait years for new hatchlings which are less dangerous in their displeasure, some never find the courage to try at all. 

(326) Rhagal lies three small eggs, none of them hatches.

(323) Prince Samwell becomes the rider of the dragon Evening, in the same month he is named the member of the Kingsguard. Prince Samwell's twin sister Princess Florys is denied the same honor. Later that day, in an inn which name is forgotten to us, Ser Willam, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard heavily in his cups laughs at the young princess, telling her that she lacks both cock and dragon for the right to join them. Later he is called Willam the Unwise. Before the dawn comes, Princess Florys rides no other beast than Drogon herself above the Red Keep. Her lack of manhood she cannot change no matter her will, but it is the severed manhood of Ser Willam still dropping fresh blood she brings to her father's legs claiming that if she needs one, she better borrows from a man who swore vows of chastity and has no need of such a thing. That day she takes Ser Willam's place in the Kingsguard, for though the princess doesn't claim his life, he does so himself, too shamed to live.

(322) Quentyn Tyrell is born to Princess Mellario and Lord Willas Tyrell.

(322) Princess Mellario weds widowed Lord Willas Tyrell to the displeasure of her parents and becomes his second wife.

(321) Prince Morgan marries Lady Jeyne Hightower, the heir of House Hightower.

(320) Rhaegal lies three eggs, two hatch at the dawn of the last year's day, but the dragon refuses the abandon the third, which hatches only later that day. Evening the last dragon is called for the time it was born.

(319) Princess Daenerys is born to King Trystane. The babe dies before reaching her first nameday.

(317) Wendel Manderly is born.

(317) Trystan Martell known therefore as Tystane I. Targaryen is crowned king for his blood ties through first Princess Daenerys and his son’s bond to one of the dragons.

(317) Queen Daenerys dies of bad belly leaving no issue. Many believe that she is poisoned by one of her lovers.

(316) Prince Morgan Martell, aged only twelve at the time, manages to tame dragon Rhaegal during his family's visit in King's Landing.

(315) Prince Daeron Martell is born.

(315) Brandon Flint is born.

(314) Princesses Nymeria and Alysanne Martell are born.

(314) Rhaegal lies two eggs. Only one of them hatches. The blood-red beast is called Bloodclaw, and ill-omened name for an ill-omened dragon, many will later agree.

(313) Wyman Snow is born. Later he enters the Kingsguard and serves as the Hand of the King for King Morgan and his son King Aegon VI.

(313) The Second Long Night ends and dawn returns

(312) Princess Melessa Martell is born. Her mother Lady Melara dies giving birth. Within year Prince Trystane marries his wife's younger sister Leona Tarly and the ceremony which takes place in the first dawn the troubled kingdom sees in years.

(311) Jon Snow dies upon the ruins of the Wall. The popular song Night Flight claims that it is while mounted on dragon Rhaegal. Wiser men know that this is naught but the imagination of bards, for no man without a drop of dragon blood was ever able to mount the beasts.

(310) Jon Snow wins the deciding victory against the Others at the Trident.

(309) Tyrion Lannister who was confidant to both Jon Snow and the queen dies of exposure to cold. End of house Lannister of Casterly Rock. 

(308) Jon Snow achieves the first victory against the Others and finally stops their descent in the Red Mountains of Dorne.

(308) Jon Snow forms alliance with Daenerys Targaryen and becomes the commander of the Kingdom's Army. Some claim that this union is sealed by marriage, but the queen herself never confirms as much in the years after the Night.

(307) Jon Snow returns from the lands controlled by the Others and confirms his survival to the world. He never reveals what transpired in the long seven years he was supposed to be dead.

(306) The Kingdom's Army loses battle against the Others at the Blackwater. Queen Daenerys is forced to flee King's Landing.

(306) Seas around Braavos freeze and in the two moons the whole folk abandons the city not to be heard of again until our times, when a ship from the previously unknown lands southwest of our shores reaches our port claiming that they are offspring of people from Braavos. These claims seem to hold more credibility than a tale of one their most prominent families which calls themselves Nightstarks and claim relation to a female line of long perished Starks of Winterfell.

(305) Prince Samwell Martell and Princess Florys Martell are born.

(305) Daenerys Targaryen forms the Kingdom's Army and fights an indecisive Battle against the Others at the Trident.

(304) Others reach the Neck

(304) Prince Morgan Martell is born is born.

(303) Dacey Manderly is born.

(303) Benjen Stark is killed together with his last black brothers by Others at the the last dawn for eleven years – the Beginning of the Second Long Night.

(302) Jon Manderly is born.

(302) Princess Mellario Martell is born.

(302) Prince Trystane Martell marries Lady Melara Tarly.

(302) Queen Daenerys kills Aegon the Pretender mounted on her dragon Drogon near the Summerhall to the cost of one of her dragon’s life.

(301) Former Queen Regent Cersei Lannister burns half of the Lannisport to ground.

(301) Greyscale spreads in Oldtown.

(301) Queen Daenerys I. Targaryen lands in Westeros.

(301) King Tommen I. Baratheon is killed by Ser Garlan Tyrell. End of house Baratheon.

(301) Lord Robert Arryn and his regent Lord Petyr Baelish are killed by Ser Robert Ser Robert Strong of Queen Cersei's Kingsguard. End of House Arryn.

(301) Benjen Stark is chosen the 1000th Lord Commander of the Night Watch.

(301) Ser Allister Thorne, the 999th Lord Commander of the Night Watch is killed by his sworn brother Benjen Stark.

(300) Aegon the Pretender lands in Westeros.

(300) Ser Allister Thorne is chosen the 999th Lord Commander of the Night Watch.

(300) The 998th Lord Commander of the Night Watch Jon Snow is attacked by the men led by Ser Allister Thorne and declared dead.

(300) The end of the War of the Five Kings.

**Author's Note:**

> The story was not beta-read. Feel free to point out any mistakes you spot.


End file.
